


Jail Birds

by L_Nevada



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Season/Series 01, Prison Sex, Rimming, Secret Relationship, Sneaking Around, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24870859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Nevada/pseuds/L_Nevada
Summary: Maintaining a healthy, functioning relationship is hard when its done in secret. Doing so is made exceptionally harder when riding out lockup with half your closest friends and family members sharing yard time with you. Smut with minor plot taking place (I imagine) a couple years before the series kicks off.
Relationships: Chibs Telford/Tig Trager
Kudos: 18





	Jail Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Smut with minimal plot for a ship I love and believe is underrated and underutilized. I'm just doing my part for my favorite fandom! 
> 
> There is an established relationship here and it takes place roughly a few years before the start of the canon series. However, the two are meant to be a little older (late thirties/early forties) and thus more experienced than the one other (OC) character they have interactions with.
> 
> Thanks for giving my little story a read and be sure to leave your gratitude (in the form of kudos or comments) at the door!
> 
> ~ Nevada

As far as prisons go, there are worse institutions to ride out a court-mandated stint than Stockton county prison. It lacks an over abundance of high-rising walls and it’s security system is dated. The premises sleeps an average number of inmates for a non-federal-level jailhouse. It’s a pretty cushy place, all-in-all.

Despite Stockton’s history of housing high threat level criminals, routine operations remains lax. Crews who are constantly filing in and out of Stockton between their time on the streets know the lay of the land and are usually capable of maintaining the peace between themselves while on the inside. The hacks who guard over them know the men who arrive are lifers (in- or outside the fences) and no amount of reform will keep them from making regular roundtrips. As a result, the COs have learned to coexist with the inmates – for a fair payment, of course. 

SAMCRO is one of the crews who frequent the country prison system. Nearly every member has done time behind bars at one point or another in their fugitive careers and it isn’t uncommon for them to enter the grounds in clustered groups. After a hardware exchange with the Niners got busted at the MC’s clubhouse, half the charter went inside for another one of these drawn out stretches.

And Tig is going feral. 

He corners Chibs in the yard, thinking his voice would dissipate into the open atmosphere faster than it would in the crowded cafeteria, and begins speaking animatedly. 

“Four fucking months! I haven’t gone four fucking months without fucking since my Navy days. Now I’ve got to go sixteen more?”

“Quite yer pacing!” Chibs hisses. From his vantage point, he can see two suits standing armed at either ninety-degree corner of the rec yard flanking him. Not to mention their Patch brothers are occupying a shaded table beside the basketball hoops not too terribly far off. 

The pair have every reason to have this conversation at a distance from their fellow club members. Likewise, Chibs understands their private discussion has to remain brief, so they can rejoin their group for the much-needed protection it provides. There is strength in numbers. 

“You’re attracting attention to yourself. Ye think I’m having any easier of a time? Since Vegas, we havena…”. Chibs lets his thought taper off, unwilling to voice the sentiment aloud. 

It’s when guys start admitting to things that they start getting killed in here. 

Not sex, mind you. Everyone’s got to get their rocks off in lockup somehow. Sex is everywhere, much to the hacks’ dismay, and is fodder for discussion. There’s a prison code, after all. No shame in engaging with it. What Chibs is avoiding admitting to is intimacy. That type of thing shows weakness and makes a man an easy target.

Since their weekend in Vegas, the two ‘brothers’ have become an item. Attached at the hip. The whole shebang. To be blunt, they’ve been dating. As unwilling as either is to use the term in fear of what their organization (holding an ideology stuck in the 1950s) would think. And do. The pair would be so lucky to scrap by with an order to vacate Charming and black their ink on their way out should their secret be made public knowledge. At least to the best of their own. 

At the mention of their first encounter, Tig halts. He paces back to Chibs’ side where he leans his back against the chain link and tries to appear laidback. “Still got dough to spend at commissary?”

“Penniless until Gemma refills fer us next week.”

Seven more days. Tig would end up in solitary by then. “Can we make the smokes stretch that long between the two of us?”

“If yer brewing up a half-assed scheme, we should go half on it.”

“What I’ve got left wouldn’t be enough anyway. But if we go through with this, you have to let me set the date. Pigs have already got you marked for asking to have us share a cell.”

“How considerate.” Chibs traces his goatee with his hand. He knew what he had asked for was risky. By doing so, he had branded himself for the remainder of this particular getaway. He also knew the fact he and Tig were the sole members caged with inmates outside their exclusive ranks was bullshit. He figured he could get by and make it look like his intentions were to protect a brother on the inside.

The situation didn’t sit right with Chibs on the whole. Besides, he wanted to be by Tig’s side at all hours of the day since they were already severely limited in their normal interactions by being in jail surrounded on every side and monitored every hour of every day on the calendar until they made their parole. “Sunday. I’ll have mother send-in half what’s mine to your account. Do what you think is best. If it keeps a shiv out of yer hand, it’s better for all of us in the long run.”

“What the club doesn’t know won’t get us strung up. I’m gonna take a lap.” Before breaking away however, Tig’s goodbye to Chibs is more flirtatious than it has any reason to be or is safe to be. “Till then, you’re gonna have to keep stewing. Listening to me get myself off after lights out.”

Tig reaches out and shoves Chibs a step sideways by his left shoulder to avoid retaliation.

A guard manning one corner sees the exchange and shouts an order at them. “Break it up girls! I don’t feel like making a trip to the hole today.”

Tig walks away with the biggest smirk on his face. Chibs huffs a sigh and grumbles after the other man too low for the cocky biker to hear. “Fucking tease.”

~~~~~~~

Tig’s actions are reckless and he knows it. Separating from his crew. Wandering the corridors to commissary alone. During a time when he, like a majority of prisoners, should be working in their individual job sectors of the prison. 

But, he’s desperate. And the best way to keep his objective in the dark from the largest majority of people is to make the transaction when the fewest amount of people are likely to be in line at the canteen.

Tig fails at the first hurdle. There’s another prisoner in line at the second window of the puny store who is in the middle of a purchase. Fortunately, the man is high off his ass, so Tig moves forward with his plot and sticks his head up to the first window. 

The second portion of Tig’s plan pans out. Gibbons is on the clock working inside the stand. It’s important Tig approaches this particular officer. The bright blue-eyed, blond is what’s known by inmates as a cowboy. He’s two inches shorter and five years younger than any other male CO on staff and he has a habit of letting female officers use him like a doormat. The kid’s prices are the lowest of the bunch simply because he doesn’t know any better. 

“What do you want, inmate?”

“I want to see what’s behind the counter.” The phrase is a well-known code utilized at this particular camp.

Gibbons nods toward his fellow guardsman to man the station in his stead. He escorts Tig behind the counter and into the stocking room in the back. “You’ve got an ask for me, curly?”

“I need a lookout. And, a private room.”

“Special friends drive up the cost.”

“I’m good for it.”

The young, inexperienced officer steps up to Tig while making eyes at him suggestively. “I was thinking a hummer, actually.”

Tig smirks crudely. “Oh yeah? Why don’t I take my ask to your partner in blue behind the counter? Blow him for a laugh. Then you don’t get either.”

“Jesus. And you call us pigs.” The CO steps back, clearly offended. 

“My money spends the same, bro. You gonna help me out or not?”

“Half now. Half when I secure the location.”

Tig doesn’t bother with a handshake to seal the deal. He disdainfully gives Gibbons his name to withdrawal the payment from his commissary account. “Later, junior. Make sure to scout somewhere spacious.”

~~~~~~~

“Lights out!”

An unseen CO pushes a button somewhere in the cell block plunging Gen Pop into darkness. Or rather, the florescent lights are noticeably muted. They never shut completely off unless the generator taps out, but the block is made dark enough (considering there are no windows to the outside) for the inmates to sleep. 

From eight in the evening to eight in the morning all cells are locked, and all prisoners are confined to their living quarters. No movement is allotted throughout the grounds during the night shift except for the occasional changing of guards who pray a fight doesn’t break out in a pod during the twelve uninterrupted hours.

Most prisoners are happy to turn in so early. They’re exhausted from their work days, whether their day has been spent it’s in a job sector or schlepping in the underground network. They tend to get more sleep inside than they do when they are out. 

Chibs and Tig turned in a few minutes early before the hacks started ushering inmates towards their enclosures for count. Their cell is on the second story of the cell block while most of their crew is housed on the first. It just so happens things worked out to where if something were to go sideways for the pair, none of their brothers would see the action as it went down, much less have an opportunity to call it to the attention of the night staff. And the MC certainly wouldn’t be able to refute or retaliate the deed once it was completed, since they wouldn’t have seen the perps who were responsible. 

Luckily, they won’t be able to see what Tig decides to do next either. 

Chibs is laying on his bed in white boxers and a wifebeater. He’s propped his pillow up against the corner of the wall beside his bed and he’s got a book resting high on his abdomen. He’s attempting to finish a chapter in the dismal lighting when Tig deems he is in need of attention. 

Tig’s face appears over the side of Chibs’ bunk and he aligns his face directly with the Scotsman’s head. “Word came back today. Got us booked a place for tomorrow.”

“Grand.” Chibs’ reply is purposefully sarcastic. The last thing he wants to do in the confined space is stick out or disclose to Tig how eager he truly is. He dog-ears a page in his book and passes the paperback to Tig carelessly. 

The more chaotic of the two throws the reading into the metal sink. “Aren’t you excited?” Tig looks momentarily concerned that Chibs may already be growing bored of him and their antics. 

“Thrilled beyond imaginable belief. Go to sleep so you have the energy to be sneaking around tomorrow.”

Tig doesn’t like to be ignored. He pulls his white t-shirt over his head and tosses it on the ground. He settles on his thin mattress and prepares to earn Chibs’ attention the best way he knows how. 

From the top bunk, Chibs can hear Tig’s breathing grow labored. The springs beneath Tig squeak in a such manner as to suggest he is more active than he should be and Chibs realizes exactly what the other man is up to. 

“Tiggy,” Chibs begins to chastise. The creaking stops before he is hit with a rebuttal.

“I’m doing it no matter what you say. You might as well enjoy it.” The bottom bunk creaks again when Tig pushes his pants down his thighs and hikes a knee up for leverage. “I’m too far gone. And you’re gonna hear what I have to say.”

Chibs dislodges the pillow behind his head and covers his face exaggeratedly. “Keep it down, will ye? Yer distracting.”

“This isn’t fair,” Tig continues, undeterred and unabashed. His voice is a whisper to save face from the neighboring cells who might be able to hear through the thin plated glass dividing the cages. The same glass that offers no real privacy between pods. “Being so close to you day in and day out. Never once being able to reach out and touch you. I miss what we had out there.”

“Real funny way of showing it. It’s too risky here, out in the open. You’re going to get us caught,” Chibs tries to reason. It stresses Chibs out, each time Tig plays this game and tries to draw him in, though thankfully the occurrences have been limited. Tig’s airy sighs and the sound of him spitting into the palm of his hand quickly squash Chibs’ sensible argument.

“I know you want to be down here with me. I can feel how much you miss me, every day.” Tig traces his thumb over his too sensitive head and his breath catches in his throat. “Besides, I want you on your A-game tomorrow. And to get that out of ya —“ Tig wraps both hands around his shaft and squeezes upwards, “— I need to rile you up.”

“You do a fine job of that.” Chibs rips the pillow away from his eyes. “This is agony. Not being able to stand over you. To be the reason fer the sounds yer making. Don’t you dare cum yet.” 

Tig manages a light chortle. “I miss this. You being the one to give me orders…” One of Tig’s hands moves to tug on his balls. “The way you’d push me around. Position me any way you want. It’s like I was made for you.”

While he knows he shouldn’t, Chibs finds himself encouraging Tig. The side of his face pressed against the mattress as if he’ll develop the ability to see through it. “The way I make you scream like no one else can.”

Tig lets go of a sustained moan that was lodged deep in his chest cavity. “Come on Old man. Give me what I want.”

Chibs’ own arousal builds inside him. Corrupting his thoughts. Willing him to flip over. To peer down at the bunk below. To catapult over the edge and replace Tig’s hands with his own. Yet, he starves the feeling. Hiding underneath his pillow fisted in his hands, which makes for a pitiful shield, and listening attentively to Tig’s fist moving over his swelling cock at an increasingly faster rate. 

“Keep your fingers out of yer arse,” Chibs commands in a hushed, controlled tone. “That’s for me to lay claim to.”

The words send a shiver through Tig’s body. Pleasure pools low in his abdomen and he rises hastily from the mattress. Tig takes two measly steps towards the toilet and braces a hand against the wall. He fists himself until he spills against the metal seat grunting into his shoulder the entire time. 

When Tig is front of him, Chibs props himself up on his pillow and stares. His eyes glazing over at the sight. He is able to make out most of Tig’s form in the dimly lit cell. Tig is built like a brick shithouse and his cock is heavy in his hand. 

Chibs’ lips part in thoughtful consideration for the man across from him, but he prevents himself from moving even an inch closer. He waits for Tig to face him again before uttering the words, “Tomorrow, you’ll regret cumming without my permission.”

A lazy smile sprouts on Tig’s face. “Counting on it.”

~~~~~~~

Chibs is spotting Tig on a bench press. “Where’d you set the meet fer?”

“C-block showers.” Tig breathes through his rep. “Shift change…coming up…Gibbons will…call us out.”

As Tig places the bar on the rack, a bell sounds throughout the prison. Guards change their positions and Gibbons appears in the doorway to holler the pair’s names into the gym. “Telford! Trager!”

They swagger up to the young officer who is puffing his chest out and trying his best to look unaffected by the outlaws’ approach. This isn’t the cowboy’s first transaction with inmates, but he remains unsettled by the concept (prior to a successful deal) as though he expects he can be caught in a corrupt institution like the one he chose to labor in. 

Chibs saddles up and gets right in the Gibbons’ face. “Fuck you calling us out fer?”

“We haven’t done nothing around here you can prove,” Tig snarks. 

“Your Chaplain wants a word.” The officer projects disgust on his face. “Guess you’re not as slick as you think you are. Let’s get this over with, jailbirds.”

The pair follow Gibbons through the hallways of the prison. Outside of Gen Pop. Passed the cafeteria currently serving C-block. Into the shower room sectioned off for the use of C-block prisoners.

The flooring connects to the walls with white tiles and shower heads line the rectangular room. Thin, rectangular windows are positioned near the concrete ceiling allowing sunlight to filter in however, they do not grant access to a view of the outside world. No stalls, no toilets, no obstacles of any kind are present to divide or obstruct the view between those who bathe at the same time. The room is designed with an open layout. It's purpose is to demean. The door the trio enters through doesn’t even have a built-in lock. It’s a safety precaution, thus allowing COs to access the showers swiftly in case struggles break out. 

But there will be no interruptions today.

“You’ve got twenty minutes.” Gibbons’ hands are gripping his belt which carry his baton and handgun. “That’s me being very generous with you. Right yourselves before you leave this room.”

“Alright. Shut the door on your way out,” Tig requests combatively. He’s halfway through the buttons on his orange jumpsuit. 

“You think I trust the two of you to stay in here and keep from wandering off?” Gibbons smirks suggestively. One last ditch effort on the cowboy’s part.

Chibs’ larger, more intimidating frame empowers him to physically walk the hack backwards out of the room and shut the door on him. “I’m too old to be an exhibitionist, mate.”

When Chibs faces the room again, Tig is stripped down to nothing but his cheap, white boxers. The clothes surrounding his feet were issued to him by the state and lack any sort of individuality. Spending time inside tends to drain all personality from any person who is locked up. However, the ink littering Tig’s skin was put there by his choice and can never be taken from him. 

“Think orange might be your color, Tigger.” Chibs pulls the wifebeater over his head and discards it behind him.

“It doesn’t suit you, Old man. Take it off.”

“Yer in no position to make demands of me. Are you gonna behave and get on yer hands and knees fer me?”

“You’re not gonna wrestle me for it?”

Chibs steps out of his pile of clothes and goes to stand in front of Tig wearing the same pair of inexpressive pants. “Skip the foreplay. You’re already a bitch to stretch open.”

“Hey, I’ve got sensitive skin. You know this about me.” Though Tig points a finger in Chibs’ face in defiance, he lets the slightly older man spin him forcibly and shove him to the ground on his knees. 

Chibs kneels behind him. Taking his time, Chibs rakes a hand greedily up Tig’s torso starting at his hip. He proceeds to growl low in Tig’s ear. “I know yer not deaf. You heard me say I want you on all fours.” He uses his free, dominate hand to grasp Tig’s neck and force him onto his hands. Tig complies, facing the tile submissively.

Chibs yanks Tig’s boxers down. Tig’s dick is hanging flaccid and his balls are drawn tight. What Chibs does next takes Tig by surprise. 

“Fuck me!” Tig jolts forward on his hands when he feels Chibs’ tongue pass over his taint. “I can never get you to do that.”

Chibs finishes licking a path over Tig’s hole. “Desperate times.” He draws languid ovals around Tig’s entrance until the tight ring of muscle opens up to his warm tongue. 

When Chibs believes Tig is loose enough to accept his fingers, he spits and watches obsessively as his saliva runs down Tig’s balls. Then, Chibs lies along Tig’s back, fists the man’s raven curls, and pulls his head up sharply. He cranes Tig’s head to face Chibs over his shoulder. 

Tig’s breathing falters when Chibs shoves calloused fingers into his mouth. He feels Chibs kiss into his frazzled hair and the soft action mixed with the harsh deed causes him to drool profusely. 

“Good boy.”

Chibs withdraws his hand when he feels spit pool on his wrist. He leverages himself on Tig’s hip and fingers him open a digit at a time. The first finger slips in easily replacing the space Chibs’ tongue left open. The second is met with resistance and he scissors them expertly to gain access. By the time he inserts the third, Tig’s head is hanging between his shoulder blades and he’s panting with exertion. 

“Chibby…”

“Yer ready when I say you are.”

Through the clouds filling his head, the idea that Tig could be jerking himself off forms. He shifts his weight to his non-dominate palm and reaches for his cock, filling with blood, rising to lay flat against his stomach. 

Chibs slaps Tig’s hand away. “Keep yer fucking hands to yourself. I’ll give you an order when I’m ready.”

Tig groans lowly. “Chibs, please. We’re running out of time.”

“I’m not leaving until I’ve had my way with you.” Chibs pulls out his fingers and spits on them, wetting them again. “Push back on my hand.” The demand sounds more like a request and he admires Tig’s willingness to please. 

Tig rocks back onto four digits and feels his cock drip at the sensation of his ass stretching open.

Satisfied, Chibs retracts his hand and makes a new demand. “Roll on yer back. Hands on yer thighs.”

Tig flips over uncoordinatedly and his back hits the flooring hard. The cool ceramic chills his sweat slicked back. “Today would be great.” He grabs the backs of his thighs, presenting his ass to Chibs unashamedly. 

“So impatient. You know I like watching your face.” Chibs shucks his own boxers down and lines up with Tig’s entrance. His next words are spoken out of courtesy. “Breathe. Are you ready?”

“Would you just get the fuck on with it?!”

Chibs pushes the head of his cock inside and pauses, allowing Tig to adjust. “Fuck I missed this arse.”

Tig groans with every inch that enters him. His eyebrows synch together in concentration and he forces his body to relax. “Damn, I needed this, man. Needed you bad.”

“Needed what?” Chibs reaches between them. He strokes Tig’s cock from base to tip once. He immediately releases to roll Tig’s balls in his hand. Then he rubs up the passive man’s length pressing it along his abdomen. “You needed this?”

“Bastard. I need you to move!”

At the request, Chibs makes a few short, slow thrusts into Tig testing the man’s limits. It isn’t long before he hits a nerve point and Tig throws his head back, banging it off the tile. 

“There, there Chibs. Fucking rail me.” Tig holds no regard for the volume of his voice. It bounces off the surfaces of the cement room creating a unique melody. “I’m not going to last long.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Chibs splays his fingers out, rubbing up the back of Tig’s legs. He forces them closer to Tig’s chest showing him where he wants them held. The action opens Tig’s entrance further and a moan is torn from Chibs chest when he feels his balls slap against Tig’s ass. Confidence mounts in him when he realizes there’s no longer a need to remain cautious. 

Chibs rests his hands against Tig’s pectoral muscles and he bares down, thrusting into the man at a more consistent pace. Chibs' breath becomes short and sharp as he chases the feeling building steadily in his loins. 

Tig hooks an ankle onto Chibs’ lower back effectively freeing one of his hands. Along with being impatient, Tig is also exceptionally greedy and desires to feel every sensation at once. He scratches his short nails across Chibs' toned back and his hand blazes a trail, connecting the points between the older man’s shoulder and wrist. 

Tig clasps Chibs’ wrist and picks it up from from his chest. Tig guides Chibs’ hand to hover above his neck. “You feel so damn good inside me. Make me remember what it’s like on the outside.”

Chibs wraps his fingers possessively around Tig’s neck and presses his palm lightly into Tig’s trachea. 

Adrenaline shoots through Tig’s body following his air supply being cut off. When his head becomes fuzzy and his vision starts to blur he taps Chibs’ arm and air rushes back into his lungs. The hand remaining firmly on Tig’s throat is enough to maintain his excitement. 

Tig reaches forward and grabs the hair at the base of Chibs' neck. The man above him takes the hint to lower himself. When Chibs comes face to face with Tig, Tig mouths the word, “again.”

Chibs repositions himself to where his forearm is braced on the shower floor beside Tig. He uses the hand on Tig’s neck to turn his face away and as soon as he reapplies pressure on Tig’s windpipe, Chibs demands, “you’re gonna cum fer me jus’ like this.”

Tig’s mouth falls open and his eyes shut tight as he releases himself to Chibs. He tries desperately to hump the air and meet Chibs’ hips with every thrust, but the hand pinning his neck keeps him passive. A reminder to Tig who is in charge regardless of the roles they fill in the rest of the jailhouse. 

Chibs finds a place on Tig’s chest the jumpsuit will cover, and he bites down on the skin there. He doubles his efforts, driving his cock to the hilt with every snap of his hips and he hits Tig’s prostate with every thrust. 

Tig is first to be sent over the edge. His orgasm hitting him suddenly without a hand to his cock. The lack of oxygen was enough to substitute for a high and he shoots ropes of cum onto his stomach with a sustained groan. 

Tig rhythmically clenching down on his member was the stimulation Chibs needed to find his own release. He let go of Tig’s neck for a final time to pull free him member and fist himself to completion on the tiling. A Gaelic curse on his lips. 

Tig’s feet drop to the floor beside Chibs without the support of the other man’s back. He rolls away from Chibs to right himself and he sits up on his shins. “You’ve still got it in you, Old man.”

Chibs is the one left on his hands and knees in an attempt to catch his breath. “Shows how much you know. You’re gonna lose it long before me.”

Tig gathers Chibs off the floor and leads them to the nearest shower head. No one has used the water for several hours, so the water happens to be warm. 

Without soap, they let the water cascade over them, and they use the remaining time they have in solitude to continue exploring each other. Tig’s hands obsessively roam over Chibs’ various tattoos, faded with age, while Chibs runs his fingers through Tig’s mess of curls. 

“You look like a wet dog.”

“Yeah? You look like a wet owl which is scarier and implies your age.”

Chibs leans in close pulling Tig into a passionate kiss. Like everything else they do, there is a struggle for who claims dominance. In the end, Tig melts into Chibs. When they separate, Tig cracks a joke. 

“Now punch me in the gut to get me back in the right head space.”

Chibs chuckles heartily. “Get dressed you psychopath.”

They dress quickly right when the CO outside decides to bang on the shower room door. Gibbons barges in before either can answer him. “Times up! Gen Pop misses you.”

Scowls return to each of their faces and they stand an appropriate distance from one another. Their clothes are righted once more. The only sign of their shared intimacy is their damp hair. 

“No need for an escort, junior,” Tig snarks. “We know the way back. I’m sure you’re late for a shake down.”

The prisoners stalk passed the guard. Outside the door and behind their backs, they hear the cop mutter, “Fucking fairies.”

They halt in unison. It’s Chibs who traces back and gets right up close to the younger man’s body. He leans over the officer’s shoulder, careful to avoid contact and/or to give the young man evidence of intent to harm, and he whispers dangerously. “And what does the wet spot on your trousers make you, lad?”

The CO swallows hard and is unable to form a rebuttal as the inmates walk away with a renewed energy in their steps. 

Tig is the first to speak as they reenter Gen Pop. “We should do that again. Real soon.”


End file.
